The Bloodlines
by yongzhi93
Summary: There is a plot afoot to destroy the remaining bloodlines descended directly from those the Great Charters originally invested their power in. Can the combined efforts of the Palace, the Glacier, and the Abhorsens discover and stop the Master?
1. Awakening Plots

_Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix._

_This begins after _Abhorsen_, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis._

_Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera._

**Awakening Plots**

"Are you certain? The Abhorsen is in Clayr's Glacier?" The guttural hiss snaked across the room, and the necromancer stiffened.

The room was decorated in black, dull, and dark colours. A bastard sword hanged from a peg, and numerous bandoliers of bells glinted behind the mahogany table. Bells, Kanneth knew, which belonged to the previous two necromancers which were recently slain. Bells which Kanneth had been sent to retrieve.

"Yes, Master. Our contact in the Glacier has informed us it is so."

"Is your… contact… reliable? I would not be very pleased to find that it is not."

"No, master. She is very reliable. I laid the binding on her myself." Kanneth could not help but shiver in the presence of his omnipotent Master.

"Very well. Know that it is to be on your head if your contact is wrong. Or – (and here an eye glinted) – if you do not perform up to standard."

Kanneth gulped. Of the last, he was certain himself. Masters rarely spared servants who made mistakes… least of all the sadistic necromancers, who did have use of their underlings' deaths.

Another burst into the room. "Master! The assault on Nestowe has been turned back by the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, Goldenhand. Just as in Callibe, our agent – Valkos this time - was lost."

The Master, the Tsar, hissed in annoyance. "Valkos couldn't take Goldenhand? Why did he fall so quickly? Was Goldenhand alone?" As the Master said the last, his face turned and stared directly into Kanneth's eyes.

Kanneth inadvertently gulped at the last, at the spiteful and venomous tone invested in those words.

"No. The Abhorsen was not present."

"So. It appears your contact was correct, after all –" Kanneth breathed a sigh of relief, quietly, at this "- and so you shall inform me of your contact. You shall command her to come to me, and I shall bind her myself. Then she may return."

Kanneth grew fearful again. "Master, what of myself?"

The Master, if his mouth was discernable, would have grinned at this. "Why, Kanneth, you are to have the honor of assembling the Dead and leading an assault on Roble's town. We are not too far away from it, but there is the Red Lake to cross."

Kanneth's throat was dry. He managed a weak croak, though. "M-me, Master?"

"Is there anything wrong with your aural faculties, now, Kanneth, or would you want a quick death here and now?" The hissing voice had suddenly gone icy cold.

"N-no, my Master, certainly I would do your bidding."

"Then go."

He rose, and left the room hastily, lest his Master change his decision. The Master, for his part, smiled. All the lesser necromancers he was training now would serve as adequate distractions from the real threat. As always, the shard reminded the Master that it was the only reason the Master could wield such Free Magic forces, could have a corporeal form, could shuck his bonds and walk not truly as a living being but close enough. If any of the lesser necromancers had dared peer closely, they would realize that the Master did not merely have dark skin. In fact, he had _no_ skin, and if not for the terrible lighting and black theme of the room it would be inexplicable. Almost inexplicable, that is.

"Rest easy," crooned the wizened Master, as he cradled the shard that lay within his bloodstream in his hand. Suddenly, it shifted and flew straight to the heart, and the Master stiffened, before relaxing again. "Soon", the Master crooned, "soon."

He then uttered words of power, which summoned to him two servants – the kind humans called Mordicants. They were experienced and powerful ones, and were merely the first of a host of Free Magic creatures that bowed down to him, and the shard within him. Now that the original plans were disrupted, the only viable option was to weaken the binding, and that meant the obliteration of those bloodlines to which the binding was bound to. Which meant, the dark sorcerer thought darkly, the King, Touchstone, the Clayr, Sanar and Ryelle in particular (for there were a thousand and half as many again), the royal Princess Ellimere, the royal Prince Sameth, and Wallmaker to boot, the Abhorsen Sabriel now in refuge in the cavern of the northern icy witches, and last, but possibly the most powerful, in the Master's opinion – for Sabriel was now aging fast and her glory days were over – Lirael Goldenhand, the relatively new but quickly rising threat to the necromantic community.

Despite what the common folk might think, the Princess was the most vulnerable, and her host of guards no major threat. The King specialized in Battle magic and the Prince was highly attuned to the Charter, besides being a good fighter, and thus both were overruled.

However, the shard had advised her – _him_, he cursed, not her – to take out the King first, as "Ranna is the least in prominence, weakest amongst the Seven, and Ranna's power runs in him". The Master did not exactly know what it meant – how was Ranna to interfere, or, for that matter, any of the other Seven? – but he had learnt not to doubt the shard's judgement.

And so all the attacks on the towns were nothing more than ruses to draw out the King. It had succeeded in drawing out the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, Goldenhand, but the shard told him that Goldenhand was "to be last, as she represents Astarael".

And so Kanneth was sent. He did not mind that loss, for Kanneth was merely one of the remaining sixteen senior necromancers, even though he was one of the inner council of the Master – the others being the late Valkos, the ancient Borthin, the grizzled warrior Anarchiel, the powerful necromancer Ariel, the adept Balthos, and brother of Valkos, and finally Lumefth, a powerful Free Magic adept.

Five inner councilors. That was fine, mused the Master. Enough to train the new cadre of forty-seven necromancers. For the purpose of his tactics so far were to alarm the King, and throw the Kingdom into further disarray following the devastating aftershocks of the freeing of Orannis and the loss of Kibeth. Now that Abhorsen Sabriel was in the Glacier – she was sixth to go, anyway – it made things even easier.

The Mordicants had arrived. "Go and stir up some fun in Orchyre. Ensure that the villagers will send word to Belisaere, and inform me when the King arrives on the scene."

He was pleased with his own choice. Orchyre was too close to Belisaere for that dratted King to ignore. With his daughter immersing in the regal way of life and his son caught up with his own trinkets, it would be left to the King to take care of Orchyre.

After all, Ganel and Uppside would soon experience assaults, and Goldenhand would have to deal with the disposable tools.

A slight, manic grin appeared. Now, the Master merely awaited the personal action of the King, who was to be the role model of his people.

_I think I am attempting to imitate the writing style of 'SanaRyelle' and failing miserably._

_And I think it is obvious who the 'Master' is, actually. The ending to this is still fuzzy. I don't have a clear one, but I intend to have tragedy. I know I'm a sadist._

_Yes, there is a traitor in the Clayr family (and again, credit for this idea goes to SanaRyelle). Goodness, I need to start getting original soon._


	2. Delaying Action

_Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix._

_This begins after _Abhorsen_, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis._

_Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera._

**Delaying Action**

Lirael glanced over her shoulder surreptitiously, as if fearful of a sudden assault by the stout necromancer. He could easily come out of Death any time, and she had avoided him for fear of tripping any alarms or safeguards he might have set. It had always been so straightforward with the Dog. With the recent attack on Roble's Town, she wouldn't be too surprised if she was attacked, here at Long Cliffs. It was for safety as much as for calming herself that she cast a diamond of protection, the cardinal marks flowing easily from her new sword. It had no name, but the inscription ran, _"I was made to be fueled by the powers of the past, wielded by the powers of the present, to protect the powers of the future"_. Made by Sameth, her very helpful nephew, it was a rare blade and had its own particular quality to it, like the original sister-swords Binder and Nehima, and Abhorsen's sword, and the two swords of the King.

The inscription on her sword – Thyme, as she called it – was not so much written by Sam as it was by Lirael. At the time, she had been "possessed" by her particular Sight, and those exact words had rolled off her tongue. Later, she did not recall anything, but her companions at the time – her half-sister, Sabriel, her brother-in-law and King, Touchstone, her nephew, Sam, and her niece, Ellimere, all concurred that it was so. Words especially fitting for her post – Abhorsen and Remembrancer – she noted with a wry grin.

Her body abruptly stiffened, and an icicle coalesced on her wrists. It seemed a foul, cold wind of Death had wrapped her entire body, for her body was still as Death. Yet she was not dead – her heart still beat strongly, and her mind continued to function elsewhere.

Lirael drew Saraneth, the sixth bell, cautiously with her hand, not wanting to startle and inform any denizens of Death of her presence. She was not so much worried about sounding Saraneth, for Saraneth was familiar to her touch, and it was loyal to her, the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, for the inherent Free Magic in the bell was tampered by the Charter which bore a mark on the bell and recognized her for her bloodlines, descendant from two of the Great Charters.

With a practiced hand, she held Saraneth still and drew Thyme with her right hand. She stalked forward warily, eyeing her surroundings. She knew better than to rely on the Dog, for the Dog was gone, even though the bittersweet memories and the pain of that loss still bore deeply in her. Then she saw the dumpy necromancer's spirit, who was ringing Saraneth, forcing the Dead spirits forward. Lirael smiled grimly – she would have something tangible to take the sadness of her loss out on. She sheathed her sword and drew Belgaer, a bell she rarely used, then rang both in a swift motion.

The sounds reached out to the somewhat short necromancer and wrapped him tightly. As she had intended, there was an initial strong resistance that ebbed quickly, as Belgaer removed the powers of free thinking from the necromancer. He was now a puppet, a monstrous puppet, no more. She replaced Belgaer and drew Dyrim, then rang Dyrim, even as Saraneth continued tolling. Dyrim had a musical voice which playfully brushed against the necromancer, and he spoke.

"Answer me. What is your name and who do you serve?"

"Kanneth. I serve my master, Tsar Koch Helmfro."

"Of what nature is your master, Kanneth, and how powerful is he?"

"He is a powerful Free Magic adept… and a necromancer, an ancient but powerful one. He wields great power, and goes by many names."

"Are there any other details about him which you know of?"

"Yes. He has a great sword when to which Dark magic is properly applied will extrude flames. He can metamorphose. He has command of two Hish."

"Explain his purpose." Lirael was slightly more intrigued by now.

"I know none."

"Very well." Lirael briefly considered holding Kanneth a hostage, but decided against it. She stowed Belgaer, and as the necromancer started to shake off his befuddled state she drew Kibeth, flipped it and rung it in conjunction with Saraneth, all in one quick motion.

"You shall walk to the Ninth gate, and you shall not let any bar your path. Walk swiftly and die a true death. But before that, pass me your bells."

The squat necromancer appeared to have regained all his mental faculties as he passed his bell bandolier on the ground. He snarled, but could not resist the compulsion and Lirael's will, and walked. He appeared to want to say something, but decided against it even as his feet walked, and his face was screwed in hatred as he stared at Lirael.

Lirael sighed. This was already the third necromancer in that week alone, which was unusually bad luck. She replaced both bells and drew Thyme, then cast charter symbols for flame, cleansing, peace, unraveling, and light, and bound them with a master mark before sending the completed spell to the bells. They shone brilliantly before falling apart as charred pieces of broken metal.

Lirael had learnt this particular lesson the hard way – the last two necromancers' bells had been spirited away by an unknown entity as Lirael scoured Death. She had commanded the necromancers to leave their bells, but had left them unguarded and they were pilfered, likely by lesser necromancers. However, every less set of corrupted bells would mean less Dead, and she intended to keep it that way.

She had not asked about the necromancer himself, for she had already questioned the other two at length and had no intention of staying too long in Death. The other two had not yielded extra details, save that they were forced to servitude through either their secret names, or bound by a Free Magic spell, or were recruited, and were under a master called Tsar Koch Helmfro. As far as she knew, Helmfro was a necromancer who had considerable powers but never appeared during the day, and could not work most spells of Free Magic concerning the bells. He did appear to carry bells, but did not appear to use them, instead exploiting his servants' necromantic powers. However, that alone was enough for Helmfro, for he was apparently an adept at Free Magic, and could work the weather. He could apparently metamorphose as well, turning into another creature at whim. None of his servants had seemed quite sure of exactly who he was, save a Free Magic adept. They were not even particularly sure of whether he was a necromancer.

'Tsar', as far as Lirael could discern, was an ancient term describing a noble who was practically as powerful as the King. Perhaps the so-called 'Tsar' was no more than a competitor for the throne, organizing a coup. Certainly all the necromancers had been undermining the King's authority, by splitting Charter stones and attacking towns. The first attack came on Callibe, from the Great Sickle Wood – Sabriel had been with her then, and had protected the town whilst Lirael went hunting for the necromancer in Death. The second assault was on Nestowe, again from the nearby woods, and before Lirael could arrive on the scene (Sabriel was in Clayr's Glacier delving through the Great Library) the Charter Stone was broken. Lirael mended it herself, however; she had learnt the art from Touchstone and the marks from Sam.

Now this attack on Roble's Town was the latest installment. She had tracked the Dead to the Long Cliffs, and had found a pile of corpses and a single necromancer. She shook her head, and slowly headed back to Roble's Town, where she had left her Paperwing. She had a feeling she would not want to know who was behind the attacks, and why.

* * *

Meanwhile, the Master was excited again, for he sensed that his turn to join the action was approaching. He would be able to reap lives and gain more power, the thing he truly lusted for.

"Lumefth, you and Balthos are to commence your assault on Ganel and Uppside. Ensure that you survive, and ensure that Goldenhand is too taken up with you. Balthos, remember the spell I taught you. Remember how you may avenge Valkos."

Both necromancers bowed, and left the Master.

A slight smirk splashed on his face.

_Yes, the last part is a decree from the Master, the Tsar, Koch Helmfro. Is Helmfro enigmatic or predictable?_


	3. Incapacitating Sacrifice

_Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix._

_This begins after _Abhorsen_, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis._

_Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera._

_Here's the third part, absab. Enjoy. (:_

**Incapacitating Sacrifice**

Lirael could sense it. The Dead walked somewhere nearby. It was getting stronger, as Lirael headed toward Roble's Town. It came from north of Edge – her finely honed senses told her as much – but she did not know whether it was Uppside or Ganel. She truly hoped it was the former – for if it was Ganel then it had to be a significantly larger number of Dead for her to sense it so far away – but she was grimly prepared to face as many Dead as necessary to take down the necromancers.

She neared Roble's Town, and saw that the villagers had already boarded up all the shops and houses. It was a good sign that they did not let their guard down, for that particular saga on Orannis had sparked off more courage in the necromancers than she thought possible. Many petty necromancers now had an inflated opinion of themselves and carelessly practiced their arts. However, there was something strange about that last three, and she would sniff it out. Thinking that last thought nearly broke Lirael's heart again, for that would have been what the Dog would have done. But the Dog was gone, sacrificed for Lirael to go on, and Lirael would ensure that that sacrifice would not have been for naught. Whatever it took, Lirael promised to herself – and to her memories of the Dog – that she would eradicate the opposition from the necromancers, and rebuild the Charter stones, to pave the way for a brighter Age.

Lirael saw the Paperwing, and this encouraged her to break into a run. She had no time to dawdle about – there were people who might be falling to an army of Dead right now. Hurriedly, she whistled the marks for the Paperwing to ready itself, and the eyes lit up, in a knowing fashion. After two years with the Paperwing, Lirael still couldn't help but shudder every time she saw that. Lirael sighed. Maybe she wasn't cut out for Paperwings after all.

She strapped herself in, and the Paperwing, who was impatient and eager by that time, gracefully lifted off. It was as if it truly was comprised only of light paper, which, Lirael supposed, it was. Her Death sense twitched – someone had died, perhaps five or six leagues away. Lirael hesitated – then, deciding to place trust in the Paperwing like she had done with the Finder, she whistled marks to increase the gale. The Paperwing soared serenely, happy to be free in the wide skies. Her Death sense had just gotten more acute, and she knew there were Dead very very close by. It _was_ Uppside, after all.

The Paperwing landed near the lake, and she got out, one hand fumbling with her bandolier. Saraneth's strap was loosened; she flipped the big bell and rung it. Although she couldn't yet see the Dead, she had other senses, and she was eager to get this over with so she could finally get a good sleep. Saraneth's voice boomed across the region, and she felt one, two, three, five, ten, then as many as twenty two Dead spirits in her grasp. Then, another bell cried out – Belgaer, she noted. Lirael cursed – of course there would have been another necromancer nearby. Why had she been so foolish and rushed head-on into things? She also noticed that her mental faculties seemed to be affected somewhat, for any thoughts straying in her mind seemed to be fuzzier.

With a snarl, Lirael bound all the Dead in her mental grasp, sending them into Death quickly, then reached out for Thyme with her free hand. A general Charter mark for warding and protection flowed easily, then the four cardinal marks for a Diamond of Protection flew out onto the soil. Marks for healing, rejuvenation and clarity flowed into her. Her mind cleared, and she fought the spell that had gotten a hold on her whilst she had been distracted by the Dead.

"Goldenhand, it's no use, dear. My spell has just been sealed by Belgaer. Although it was meant for strays, I'm glad you fell into it. It simplifies my revenge for Valkos. And, by the way, the bells do permeate through your little diamond." His words ended just as he stepped out of the shadow of a tree.

"You! Do you really think you can hold me with – urgh – this measly spell?" Lirael's sword shimmered as more marks flowed into her, fighting the spell. With her other hand, she hurriedly replaced Saraneth, though it was quite a chore maintaining her spells, fighting the necromancer's spell, fighting Belgaer, looking out for the necromancer, and keeping her bell. She managed it, and seized Belgaer, which rang true. Her mind cleared and the Charter marks thundered through the dark spell victoriously before sputtering to the ground.

"No, actually, I don't." The necromancer had already drawn two bells, which were obscured by the darkness, and raised them. Lirael could see a dark nexus surrounding his hand – a spell prepared while Lirael had been battling the other spell. No wonder she had broken through so quickly. That spell wasn't the real deal.

"You see, I've been expecting you, and this trap has been planned for ages. It was a tough choice."

As Lirael started to gather the marks to strike the necromancer down, trying desperately to distract the necromancer, saying, "What choice! You won't complete you spell in time", the necromancer rang the two bells, in complete accord. To Lirael's horror, she recognized that one of them was Astarael, and the other Saraneth – the one she had just used. She spat, "Anet", and a Charter mark sprang forth to the forefront of her mind, but the spell took hold then.

Lirael was now in a familiar setting – Death. "Well, what is your plan? You can't get me to die like that, you know – it's before my time, and I have Astarael's power in me." She sneered at the necromancer, in desperate hopes that he would not see through her and call the spell off.

"Oh, you're lying, even I can see that. But your words hold the truth, ironic as it may be. Your intention was to lie, and the outcome was that you told the truth. But this is all discussion for another day." He gave a slight smile as the bells continued tolling. "Not a discussion with me, unfortunately."

Lirael tried to summon her power, but failed, and the Charter marks on Thyme could only light up feebly. "Don't even think about it. In Death, we necromancers have a significant advantage, especially since you're bound with Saraneth and Astarael. The true binding will come in conjunction with the spell, soon."

Lirael had always wondered how Astarael worked, and now she saw. The bell had forced her through the precincts quickly, and they were already in the Third Precinct. However, the sound of the bell wrapped both their spirits, and it acted as a barrier to both external and internal influences as it sped its charges towards the Ninth Gate. Lirael remembered the scene, but the last time she'd been that far had been with… "No!" Lirael muttered. "Now's not the time for grieving, it's the time to make what Dog did stand for something."

With a renewed purpose, she mentally battled the sounds of Saraneth and Astarael, even though it was not easy. She was already weak from battling the last necromancer, lack of sleep, constant usage of Charter magic and her random, sudden night flights. The diamond and all the other marks had taken more out of her than she would have liked to admit. Her mouth had ceased working, otherwise she could have screamed a discordant note – and sent both of them to die. As it was, the future looked bleak – they were already in the Fourth Precinct, and nearing the Fifth.

"You know, I always admired that will of the Abhorsens. A will of iron, even without Saraneth, was how it was described by lesser necromancers. Although I have Saraneth and you are bound, it is amazing how you can resist."

Her battling finally drew some results, and Lirael felt some moisture about her mouth. Even as she started sputtering, she still gave the intense battle most of her will. "W-hy u-se Sar-ane-th i-f yo-u are going to kill me anyway?"

"Believe me, if I could, I would, and I should." Briefly, a dark shadow passed his face. "You killed Valkos, that is reason enough. But I cannot. Astarael, even mine, would rather serve you than serve me, and when it rebels I cannot take the both of you. Saraneth here keeps you in check. Besides, it is better to be safe. And, your words were correct – I cannot kill you, not with Astarael at any rate, even if Astarael here were fully loyal to me. You see, you were right – Astarael's blood and power is in you, watered and thinned as it is, and you are one of the few powers that warp Death. I could not hope to kill you via Astarael. It would be like using the bell Saraneth to try and defeat the Bright Shiner Saraneth herself. It would be like using Charter marks to unmake the Charter. It simply will not work."

"However, what I plan to do will make you wish you were dead. My Master, Master Helmfro, Tsar Helmfro, has plans. And those plans will bear fruit."

They were passing through the Seventh Precinct. Saraneth's domination over Lirael's hands were failing, and, as they reached the Seventh Gate, they failed. Lirael moved quickly, grabbing Saraneth and Kibeth, but then they stopped.

"It is truly amazing. I did not expect you to do that so quickly. Very well, since this has happened…" Suddenly, a guttural cry sprang from the necromancer's lips, in a language unknown to Lirael, and Astarael and Saraneth seemed to pick up a new tempo. Lirael struggled to ring Saraneth, but failed, as the dark spell took effect and she found herself going into the Seventh Gate.

"A variation of what Kerrigor did to your father. It works just as well, though."

Lirael had not noticed that the necromancer had drawn Ranna. Astarael had stop crying her mournful cry. "How did you do that?" Curiosity overpowered her for the moment, for Lirael's true calling had always been in the Great Library.

"Controlling Astarael? It is simple, as long as one knows how to ring it properly, and have sufficient will to carry it through and still it when necessary. I presume you have a specific incident in mind. Abhorsen's father, the Abhorsen Terciel, had neither the will nor the knowledge of Astarael, for it was not recorded in the Abhorsen's book. His time was up anyway, and he knew it. Astarael is not widely used, and this is not common knowledge even amongst the necromancers. But the Master knows. The Master always does."

"When you get out, perhaps you'd like to record this in your Book, the Abhorsens' Book." The necromancer was clearly mocking Lirael, and Lirael started to rage.

Then, Ranna tinkled, and Lirael tried to scream but couldn't – the necromancer did what she had sought to do to him. She had been distracted, and now the binding had spread all over again. In horror, she found that Saraneth and Ranna now seemed to be draping invisible chains over her, and those chains were chaining her to the gate. A last, desperate notion occurred to her. She did not know if she would be able to see it through, but it was necessary.

Utilising a technique only Sameth had tried before, Lirael placed the entirety of her indomitable will into seeing one bright Charter mark, and she stared at the necromancer, willing the Charter mark to strike him down. It worked, after a fashion, for Ferhan did appear, and fly through the necromancer, but it seemed to have no effect.

"You represent one of the Seven, Goldenhand. For me to attempt such magic like this on you would require a terrible sacrifice. It was truly a waste of effort, though I commend you for having managed that, in Death, yet. I am already dead, after I complete the spell Astarael will see to it that I go to the Ninth Gate and past it. But it was worth it – for Valkos, and for my Master. You will know how I felt when I heard about Valkos, but by then it will be too late. How long you will remain chained here will depend on how long it takes the Abhorsen to come and free you, like how she freed her father so many long years ago. Waker and Walker. But I will not see that."

With a final hint of a smile, Balthos disappeared through the Seventh Gate. Lirael struggled, but the spell held through. She was in the Gate, and Ranna and Saraneth and the spell would bind her for as long as no one interfered.

Lirael could only stare fearfully at the Seventh Precinct and wonder what it was that the necromancers had planned.

_What do the necromancers want to do? Trapping Lirael to remove her interference from what?_

_Thanks for the review, absab! Well, yes, here's the third part. I now understand why SanaRyelle was desperate for reviews._

_SanaRyelle, I'd like to say you're really good. How did you find the time for over 120K words? X)_


	4. Royal Preparation

_Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix._

_This begins after _Abhorsen_, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis._

_Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera._

_Fourth part. _

_We're doing MOV – Merchant of Venice – now, for Literature, and I want to try to incorporate some themes. Like, say, Appearance versus Reality (Ellimere as a Portia-type who can suddenly become very ferocious?), Law & Justice (Ellimere, for sure), Relationships (quite a lot. I'll try to include a NEW one. Maybe Nick?), Intention VS Outcome, etc._

_All the themes are applicable._

_Special credits in this chapter to Ms Clarinda Choh Sok Guang, for being my Lit/EL teacher. First one to consistently give me 'C' grades for EL/Lit, too:S_

**Royal Preparation**

The King had received unsettling news. There had been uprisings in the area surrounding Edge, and the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, Lirael, had yet to report back. He was worried for his sister-in-law, but reassured himself about the outcome – Lirael was one of the strongest of all necromancers, Charter-servants or not, and it would take an exceptionally skilled necromancer to best her in a fair fight. Like his wife, mused the King.

"Sir! Disaster!" A messenger burst into the council chamber, where a meeting was being held. Irritation was displayed in all the faces present save the Clayr's representative and the King. The King maintained a façade of serenity as he addressed the issue.

"What is it?"

"Your Majesty." The messenger seemed less flustered but more intimidated now that his King was addressing him directly. "There has been an attack –"

"Fear not. The Abhorsen-in-Waiting is at Roble's Town."

"No! Sire, the attack is on Orchyre. Two Mordicants have been observed, and the population is being slaughtered!"

"What!" This revelations drew many responses.

"How dare they!"

"The arrogance of them!"

"Let's rush out and teach them a lesson!" This was from Sir Halberton, a descendant of a family whose interest lay greatly in the Army. Indeed, Halberton was currently one of the highest officers, a General.

"Calm down. We need to deal with this in an adequately cool fashion. Anyone who thinks otherwise, any hot-headed idiot who wants to charge out may do so."

This was met with silence as all council members stared at the King, as if he had gone berserk.

"But, sir –"

"I did not say I would not take action. Just don't act rashly. Right, I think that to deal with Mordicants we need the Abhorsen. Send emissaries and messagers to inform both the Abhorsen and the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, then call Prince Sameth and Princess Ellimere up here."

"Princess Ellimere!?"

The King shot Halberton a cold stare, and Halberton winced. "Ellimere shall deal with the regal and bureaucratic affairs. I shall go forth, with Sameth and two companies to quell, or distract, the threat. At any rate, we will have to rescue the living still trapped in Orchyre. Are there any issues?"

The nobles muttered but did not object. "Very well, I shall take my leave now." Sometimes, Army men could be incredibly thick. Charter help all of them if that popinjay ever got to make any important decisions. Even now, the King could see that the idiot was fuming. That was better than having more dead people. If an army was sent instead of powerful mages or Abhorsens, then there'd be more food for the Free Magic creatures, more bodies for necromancers. Fools would be fools.

The King immediately rose, and the doors were opened. Sameth was already outside, and Touchstone could see that there were two lines of honor guard lined up. The messenger walked behind the King, and joined the King's forces.

As the King departed, Halberton and the other nobles remained in the council room, staring at each other. They rose, after a while, and were about to depart as another messenger burst through.

"Milord, there is another assault-"

"Yes, yes, the King has gone to deal with it." Halberton was clearly in a foul mood.

"Wait. This could be something else." Lady Cynthia kindly turned to the man, giving Halberton a quelling glance. "What is it now?"

"The Southern Plateau –"

"Yes, yes, the Abhorsen-in-Waiting has gone to deal –"

Lady Cynthia gave Halberton an admonishing look, but before she could speak, the messenger voiced his opinion.

"Stop bloody interrupting!" There was a stunned silence and Halberton turned puce, spluttering. The messenger, however, carried on.

"The towns Uppside and Ganel are under invasion. The Abhorsen-in-Waiting went to Uppside, according to the villagers of Roble's Town. Our contingent stationed nearby went to Uppside to stop the Dead and render aid to the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, and we managed to battle off the Dead. Most were dying already anyway."

"Then, we found the body of the necromancer somewhere north of the village. He was quite dead, and he had a slight smile on his face. We found milady Abhorsen-in-Waiting nearby, facing him, in a diamond of protection. But she was in Death, and she would not deign to respond when we attempted to communicate that the Dead were quelled."

"She seemed as if she was struggling, but we couldn't help her. The only ones with the mark there were me, Evans, Lark and Karen, so we cast a second, bigger diamond of protection to help the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, but we could do no more."

"The rest of the contingent are now engaging the Dead in Ganel. I was sent to report."

"My report is delivered. If there is nothing else, I will take my leave."

Lady Cynthia prodded Sir Halberton.

He made off, but Halberton said, "Wait." He seemed to be struggling with himself, and then he managed to splutter out something that sounded vaguely like a strangled "Sorry."

The messenger gave him an inquisitive look, then strode out briskly.

"What do we do now?"

Halberton thought for a while, then his eyes glittered. "In the absence of the King, as General of the Army and representative for our armed forces, I recommend sending two entire contingents to the Southern Plateau to quell all enemy forces, and to root out the problem."

The other councilors eyed each other warily, before assenting. Halberton was clearly making hay while the sun shone, but none of them dared to act without confirmation of allies. Halberton was sharp – he immediately knew the nature of the ambience, and he sought to exploit it fully. One by one, the councilors reluctantly agreed. The representative of the Clayr was lost in a vision, and hardly seemed to hear them. She was ancient, anyway, and none of the councilors there trusted her judgment.

"Very well. I shall lead the forces myself."

* * *

Meanwhile, the Master was receiving news.

"Hmm. The King is moving. Hmm, hmm." The Master mused to himself as his brain worked out a strategy. "I'll have the Mordicants –"

"Don't be an idiot!" The shard hissed at his complacency. "The report states that Belgaer is going, as well!"

"What? Oh, the Prince? He's a fine fighter, but no match for a Mordicant!"

"Fool!" The shard spat contemptuously. "They'll force your servants into submission, then they'll find us. How are we to face Ranna, Mosrael, Dyrim, Belgaer, Saraneth and Astarael all at once? Even if Dyrim and Mosrael don't make an appearance, four is enough to reseal what's left of me and bind you!"

"Now you're the fool. Goldenhand is locked in Death, bound by the spell I taught Balthos, and the Abhorsen is secreted in the Glacier. The Clayr won't come down personally – they'll be too busy in that cave of theirs – and the King will return to reign alongside the Princess. The Prince will be making trinkets, and nobody will bother us!"

The shard snarled. The Master jumped up in surprise and pain, spasmodically writhing, then calmed down. "Don't try that again or I'll go directly and give you up!"

"You wouldn't dare," sneered the shard. "I'm your only hope of returning you your original powers and stature. If you do that, you'll only condemn yourself."

Indeed, the Master could not currently betray the shard now, no more than the shard betray the Master. For they were dependent on each other – the shard on the Master's servitors' blood to sustain itself and keep itself free of a certain binding, the Master on the shard's advice and experience, as well as its powers.

"Try me. And this is just wasting my precious time. What would you have me do, then?" The tone was defiant, but it was clear that the Master was making an excuse.

The shard did not pursue the matter. They were in private, anyway, and such bickering would only yield the same result in the end. The difference would be the time wasted. "Go personally, to north of Orchyre. Intercept Ranna in a disguise, and finish her. Then retreat – Belgaer will not go down as easily, and Dyrim will be nearby."

Helmfro snorted at that. It was just two individuals, and it surprised him that the shard thought so little of his powers. Granted that they were both royalty, but that wasn't saying anything. Well, then he would have to show the shard how capable he was. He assented immediately, thinking of how he would savor the moment where he slew the King. It would be sweet, sweet revenge.

"No need for disguise. I can just finish both."

"Disguise yourself. Or I'll not help you."

"How bothersome. There's no point, but I'll do it, so stop breathing down my neck, literally or not."

The shard, if it could, would have sighed to itself. The Master's hubris would be the end of him. Once, the shard would have bent such mortal and undead servants to his will, and not tolerated any such defiance and daring.

But that was in the past. Some of his power had been spent in the second binding, and he was not what he was before. Indeed, now he had only one last chance at survival, and he needed all the assistance he could get.

The Master strode from his room, nodded at the guards Anarchiel and Borthin, then commanded them to join Ariel in the instruction of the new acolytes, His senior necromancers were spread thin, and the Master fully intended to incorporate four new councilors.

The Master now regretted his earlier decision regarding Kanneth, and the only outward show of it was a slight bow. Kanneth's skills lay in deception, masking, and cloaking, and would never have been a logical choice for a frontline battle. He was merely keeping his pride intact by keeping Kanneth off his feet. That had cost dearly.

"Regretting it finally, eh?"

"Shut up. He was dispensable."

"Try saying that again when all of them are gone."

"Shut up." The Master was now half as tall as he was before.

"And think of a name as we go along."

A dark shape was observed moving impossibly fast, from the Southern Plateau, in the general direction of Orchyre.

_Well, how is it that the Master can move so quickly? And, yes, in the two chapters it'll be Appearance VS Reality as the featured theme! Next up I'll have Lirael rescued – she's missing too much action!_


	5. Old Acquaintance

_Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix._

_This begins after _Abhorsen_, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis._

_Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera._

_Let me say something about myself. I'm this kind of random person perpetually trying for more attention, hoping to score and work hard and be diligent without actually working hard. E.g._

_[xyz damn, im getting lazier [noo; my QA knowledge is virtually non-existent says:_

_Yup, that's my MSN. I'm certainly ungrammatical when it comes to informal settings!_

_BTW: Guest Starring: Kibeth!_

**Old Acquaintance**

Lirael lost all sense of time. She knew only that she was still alive, and still struggling. She did not fear for herself, but she knew that being in Death too long would transform her forever, and she did not want to risk being a menace to others. Besides, she still hadn't fulfilled her unspoken promise to herself and the Dog – that was, to free the Old Kingdom from the grasp of evil, and allow everyone to walk freely whether under the sun or not. She'd barely scratched the surface.

Lirael was desperate now – time was ticking away, and her struggles had barely loosened the spell. That necromancer was not a common, petty necromancer – he was considerably more skilful, to cast such a spell, and had sacrificed his entire life into the spell, which must account for something. But she was in no mood to reassure herself – if anything, her inability to break free immediately only served to heighten her desperation.

"Dog! Help!" Lirael cried mournfully, with desperation, fear, and sadness, knowing that no one would ever hear her. She did not note that the call was a mental summons as well - summons which any necromancer or Free Magic creature skilled enough would be able to pick up.

* * *

Far out in the Glacier, Sabriel was reading an ancient text, depicting a golden age wherein the Abhorsens had hunted down nearly all the necromancers. Suddenly, she was jolted, and she thought that someone had called "help". She looked about warily, and a Librarian – Imshi – wearing a blue waistcoat, saw her and came forth. 

"Abhorsen, is there anything you need?"

"Did you hear who cried?"

"Cried?" Imshi looked puzzled. "No, I did not hear anything."

"Thank you." Sabriel was not as puzzled as Imshi – Imshi's response could only mean one thing. Hesitantly, for she'd barely left that world for a break, she reached for her bandolier which lay on the ground some feet from her. Although she sorely wanted a rest from all that, she knew her duty and never shirked from it. She put on her bandolier and her sword, then drew a sword. Imshi came again, with two other librarians in tow.

"Abhorsen!" She looked fearful, and had good reason to. Here was a woman who pledged that she would not draw her sword in the Glacier, claiming that there was no need to as the protective spells were strong, but now drew it and was looking as scary as a monster.

"Relax. I'm going into Death. I felt a mental summons of enormous strength, and I can't ignore such a potential threat."

"Yes, ma'am." Imshi was visibly relieved at this pronouncement; she strode off purposefully and the other librarians scattered. They had come to trust the Abhorsen innately as they trusted the most senior and experienced Clayr.

Firstly, Sabriel called forth to her mind Charter spells for protection, for masking, for stealth, for cloaking, for furtiveness, for secrecy, for fortification, for security, for deflection, for strength, and cast them into her clothes. She wasn't wearing armor, but she had no time to fetch it – instead, she hoped that by reinforcing her clothes it would serve as well. Then, she cast marks for accuracy, for strength, for precision, and directed them into the Abhorsen's sword. It blazed a golden-yellow as the marks swam into the sword.

Finally, she drew forth the marks necessary for a diamond of protection. It was much easier to cast it than at Barhedrin Hill or under the Royal Palace when there was the presence of corruption, and the Glacier seemed willing to offer her a helping hand. It was like that sometimes in Abhorsen's house as well. The Eastmark flowed easily from her sword, then the Southmark. As the Westmark touched the carpeted floor, Imshi came rushing towards Sabriel.

"Ma'am Abhorsen, here is your armored petticoat and breeches. And the full set."

"Thanks!" exclaimed Sabriel. Although Sabriel had been a Queen for decades, she still had a playful and roguish personality, and she sensed that this wasn't the place to mince words into fine royal or bureaucratic terms. In that aspect, she was far from Ellimere, her daughter, who was every inch a fine Queen – albeit a bureaucratic, and in Sabriel and Sameth's opinion, a boring one.

She took the petticoat and wore it over her plain clothes, then did the same for her trousers. Now that she was ready, she sealed the diamond with the Northmark. Then, she abruptly stiffened, as if a chill wind had caught her head on, and icicles formed.

Imshi stared in amazement and shook her head. "And I can barely warm my toes out on the glacier!"

Sabriel was already in the First Precinct. Though she had only used the bell once before, and the bell was anathema to Abhorsens, she drew Mosrael anyway. There were no dead bodies nearby for them to animate – all it would do would be to rush them into the First Precinct, where she could easily banish them later. Right now, the call was urgent.

Although she had not much practical experience, the relevant pages in the Book of the Dead shone in her mind, as if she had just read it. Without further ado, a see-saw like gyrating voice sounded.

* * *

Lirael was, frankly, on the edge of hysteria. Her memories of Dog and worry for the King, and especially what Balthos had said, was starting to overpower honed senses, calm logic and cool intellect. "You will know how I felt when I heard about Valkos, but by then it will be too late." Valkos was the necromancer she had slain at Nestowe, after Callibe, she was sure. Did that meant that her brother would be slain? Surely he meant her sister – she didn't have a brother. But that couldn't be right – "How long you will remain chained here will depend on how long it takes the Abhorsen to come and free you, like how she freed her father so many long years ago. But I will not see that." They expected Sabriel to free her, so why would they incapacitate her to get Sabriel alone? Unless – was she _bait_!? No! She would not play pawn in a conspiracy and see her sister slain because of her! 

Her desperation grew another notch as she realized she _did_ have a brother – by marriage. The King! Were they planning something with the King? What if Sabriel came to rescue her at the cost of her husband the King? What if the King was slain because of Lirael? Oh, no! Her paranoia overcame her entirely then, and her intellectual, logical self felt as if it had taken a back seat. It now watched the interplay as a blinding white light shone and melted her bonds and blew off nearby Greater Dead…

She was free! "How – how did I do that?" Lirael croaked to herself, to voice out her doubt, and also to hear her voice. It nearly didn't work, and certainly didn't sound like her usual self. She sighed, and drew Dyrim, and a melodious peal brought back her voice.

* * *

Sabriel would have carried on, but she heard Dyrim's voice. A necromancer! She stalked along the border of the Seventh Gate, where she felt a strange presence – familiar, yet tinged with an unknown power, which was amazingly strong. A familiar reek came to her – Free Magic! Yet this particular branch of Free Magic seemed familiar to her, somehow. She followed the path, then saw her half-sister. They both spoke at once, as Lirael noticed Sabriel. 

"Lirael! What are you doing here!"

"Sabriel? What are you doing here?"

They eyed each other warily, each looking for a hint of necromancy, a hint of trickery, a hint of Free Magic. Both surreptitiously reached for bells – Lirael for Kibeth, Sabriel for Saraneth.

"What was that Free Magic power?"

"Free Magic?"

"It's emanating from you!"

"No! I didn't use any Free Magic!"

"Sister, I'll swear that you're some Free Magic elemental." Sabriel closed her eyes, trying to figure out some way to confirm the identity of the other, while testing the other. The other didn't make any surprise attack – it passed the test.

"I'm not!" Lirael was shocked. "I'm Sam's aunt, and Sam made me this hand. Check his handiwork and my Charter Mark!"

"That won't be necessary." A new voice joined them. Both turned, bells drawn and swords ready – Sabriel had replaced Mosrael – and looked at the newcomer.

"Mistress. I heard your call and sensed your power, and came as quickly as possible."

"Dog!" Lirael wept, and ran straight for the Dog. Kibeth jangled, and Lirael suddenly jerked in the direction of the Gate. She would have crossed, if not for the Dog, who barked and forced Lirael's leg to walk in the opposite direction.

"Dog! Why're you here?" Lirael didn't seem to care that she'd nearly died – she was elated at finding her best friend intact. Sabriel, for her part, merely remained cautious, while Lirael sheathed Thyme and stowed Kibeth to hug the Dog with both hands. The Dog licked her playfully, then seemed to regain her senses.

"Wait - we have no time! As we speak, there is a great evil preparing to attack one of the bloodlines!"

"Yes! Oh, Charter. The King!"

"The King? Touchstone? Why would they? He's in the Palace."

"No, I'm certain! They used me to lure you out, and now the King is walking into a trap!"

"What? But I didn't come here to find you – someone sent out a mental summons!" Sabriel now recalled the original reason she had trekked into Death.

"The point is moot," Dog was decisive. "You shall find the King, and protect him."

"Then what about you? Dog, I won't leave you again!"

The Dog turned a baleful, sorrowful eye in Lirael's direction. "I can never truly live again. I merely stayed on, and I must go soon. I'm here for this final struggle. Orannis is not totally gone – he can regenerate himself in a place he never was in before."

"Where?"

"Here."

Lirael understood immediately – and Sabriel saw the implications, as well. "He wants to eliminate us so that there'll be no opposition!"

"Yes. Hurry, do not tarry. There is no time."

"But why can't you come with us?" Lirael wailed softly.

"I have to watch for the entrance of Orannis. Besides, I am banished forever in Death. Orannis did that to me." The Dog whispered softly. "Now, go!" The last was a command, and the Dog barked, sealing it with her – Kibeth's – powers. Suddenly, Lirael and Sabriel found themselves running quickly towards the Sixth Gate, towards Life.

"No! Dog!" The grief-stricken cry was cut off as they crossed the Sixth Gate, Sabriel having cast the spell.

The Disreputable Dog sat on its hunches and stared sorrowfully at the Sixth Gate, then jumped up quickly, shook itself frantically – sending water droplets helter-skelter – and set off resolutely, tail wagging the river of Death into froth.

_Well, Lirael certainly has it rough. I don't think the sixth instalment will come as quickly – school week is starting again. Boo!_

_Argh, my ThinkQuest project – Sustainable Development, Growth and Continuity in the 21__st__ Century – didn't even merit a Honorable Mention! The champion team of that age group did the same topic._

_Hmph, I think the judges neglected to see the sidebar navigations. – Sulks -_


	6. Ranna's Awakening

_Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix._

_This begins after _Abhorsen_, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis._

_Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera._

_Argh – I spent an expeditious amount of time editing the previous 5 chapters. But I really liked the reviews: thanks!_

**Ranna's Awakening**

The King and his regiment of troops (on horseback, for haste was imperative) stopped. There was a definite rustling in the woods.

"It's something… something" declared Sam uncertainly. "Seemingly human…"

The soldiers responded immediately: they positioned themselves between the unknown in the woods and the royal King and Prince. Touchstone impulsively readied Charter marks for destruction, fire, and binding, and bound them into a Charter spell. He was about to hurl the prepared spell when bushes rustled and parted.

"Awrite, don't hit me, I'm not them!" A ragged man was revealed, carrying few possessions.

"What are you doing here?" King Touchstone gazed grimly down at the haggard man. The spell he had woven was still cupped in his hand.

"I'm from Orchyre! I'm a merchant. But those things, they took all of my spice stock and were slaughtering people! I've had to run! The town's alight!"

"What things, man? Speak!" Touchstone commanded with a compelling tone. By this time, Touchstone had let the marks fall onto the ground as individual, harmless marks.

"Things… Free Magic creatures! They killed Mary and my hosts, and they killed the mayor Gam, they killed and killed!" The man was sobbing now.

"What is your name?"

"Quaunyex, sir. Quaunyex Buklack. Please! They're coming! Take me with you."

"Very well. Quanyex. But we'll be heading back to Orchyre. Are you sure you will want to follow us?"

"Anything, anything! Just don't leave me behind!" The worn-out man sobbed quietly. At this point, Sameth noticed that the man never left the shade, and that there was a familiar stench in the air – it was very faint, though. Very, very faint. Sameth decided against airing his suspicions at this point. However, Sameth did offer to have the straggler on his horse – it made it easier to keep an eye out on and for him.

* * *

The Master was having a fierce mental debate with the shard.

"He obviously doesn't trust me. Why can't I just finish him off now?"

"We cannot risk it. He may Awaken. Belgaer may Awaken, and that would be disastrous. Already Astarael has partially awakened, due to the spell wrought by your fool of a protégé."

"'Awaken'? Don't be an idiot – he isn't asleep."

"You're foolish and ignorant. He isn't physically asleep, but the true power within him remains dormant. It only rose once when they were binding – never mind."

"Binding _you_?" There was a slight smirk.

"Shut up. There were Eight of them; besides, I had spent myself unleashing the first wave of destructive energy. It was quite daring of them, though, to rely on my powers to help them defeat my own servants, Chlorr. They only started using their own power when they ringed me, and even then only when Yrael joined in did they manage to overcome my resistance."

"Yrael?"

"The tabby-cat."

"Ah. Abhorsen's servant, eh."

"Stupid cat. Never expected it to be so ungrateful – after all, I nearly slew the master who had kept him for millennia. My agents did tell me he was fed up with them. 'A millennia of servitude' was his catchphrase, and he always did grumble."

"Apparently he was not fed up with the Abhorsens as much as he was with you. I heard Abhorsen-in-Waiting Goldenhand – that sneaky bitch, like her bitch friend – used trickery. She bribed him with fish. Just before the battle, he realized what he would be without fish."

"Smart family. Trapping him in the shape of a cat, and getting him addicted to fish?"

"Smart, indeed. So smart that they took you by their wits, I assume?"

"Stop mocking me so arrogantly, or else I will not aid you."

The Master rolled his eyes. "Oh, not this trick again – we're even sparring partners when it comes to _this_ issue. Use another tack."

"Very well – you'll notice that the Prince thinks you're deluded and raving, and I concur. You're staring at the sky, drooling, muttering incoherently to yourself. Mad you."

"_What!?_"

* * *

The merchant was weird, and Sameth had an inclination to get away from him. Rather repulsive habits made him seem fifty years beyond what he looked. He was drooling and muttering madly, and his eyes seemed empty, as if their master were spiritually missing.

Then, suddenly, his spirit appeared to have returned, for he hurriedly apologized and looked down. The royal Prince was suspicious, and he used his highly attuned senses to try and get a reading as his horse whinnied to a stop. Nothing suspicious…

Wait. The merchant claimed he was a 'spice merchant' and had his load captured in Orchyre. Why would Free Magic creatures 'take' all of his spice stock? That was very convenient for a masquerader. Besides, why didn't he have any smell of spice on him?

Wait. How had this man, with no Charter mark, sensed that his father was casting a spell? He had surrendered himself and even said, "Don't hit me". How had he known the nature of the spell if he wasn't a servant of the Charter? Unless…

Sameth once again tried to get some reading on the suspicious 'spice' merchant, and managed to sense something near the merchant's arm. He stared hard at the merchant's arm, and quickly drew his spelled sword – Braller – and sent Charter marks flowing into the merchant. It was a truth-spell, and Sameth immediately sent more marks – marks of immobilizing, marks of blankness, and tried to scramble the merchant's mind as he asked a few questions. The King and his troops were setting up camp, and none seemed to notice what Sameth had done.

* * *

That little brat was smart, you had to give him that. However, that was all the praise the Master could find for the twerp – his meager powers could barely even tickle the Master. The Master recognized the spell at once, and allowed his voice to become slightly slurred.

"Who are you?"

"Quaunyex Buklack… spice merchant… father of two…"

A few members of the regiment looked strangely at him, and continued watching the byplay between their Prince and the 'merchant'.

"Okay. Do you serve the Charter?"

"No…"

"Are you against the Charter?"

"No…"

Now, there were more men staring, including the King himself.

"Are you in anyway way a Free Magic or Dead creature, or a necromancer?"

"No…"

By now, nearly all the troops had been alerted and seemed to watch with morbid fascination. The Master almost sneered – he was acting too well, it seemed.

"Answer me this. Are you opposed to the King, and do you wish to see me or the King dead?"

"No…"

At this, all the troops suddenly reached for their swords, and the King and the royal Prince were pushed out of the way. The Master's mind had barely registered that this was hardly an adequate response to what he'd just said when he found swords pointing at his neck.

"Fool! A Truth-spell!"

Helmfro immediately understood. It meant that there was no point in hiding himself any longer. He was rather pleased by this turn of events – his pretense was rather annoying to keep up. It was night time, and he was in his element. With a snarl, he reaped three deaths, then proceeded to roar a Death-spell. To the credit of the Prince and the King, they responded immediately, casting marks for protection. However, the Master estimated that at least a dozen troops had fallen, leaving less than two score more. But these troops were elite and experienced – the Master found himself buffeted by various Charter spells, some of which were quite strong. A few soldiers charged him, and he snarled.

The Prince and the King were blasting away at him, and the Prince cast the most complex and consuming spells with frightening ease. A normal Dead spirit, Free Magic creature or lesser necromancer would have wilted before this assault, but not the Master. He metamorphosed, turning into a wolf, while casting more Free Magic spells, aided by the shard. He dodged the soldiers charging him, and ripped out their throats. He could hear the shard mentally sighing, though it was helping him. Evidently the shard was unhappy with the situation.

The Master sneered at the shard – it, as usual, greatly underestimated the Master and overestimated their adversaries. Tendrils of dark flame and bolts of burning lightning reduced the ranks of his opponents. There were a few who managed to get shields up in time, but he merely pushed and broke their shields. There was roughly a dozen left after that, for most had been too focused casting their spells, thinking that that would occupy his attention. Pathetic. But his strength, too, was draining quickly.

He realized, suddenly, that all of the magic assaulting him were from the troops and the King. The Prince was casting something even more complex, and the rest were providing covering fire. The Master could not have that. He loped towards Sameth, intent on ripping his throat out. In desperation, the King rushed in front of Sameth and placed himself in a battle stance, but the Master easily cleared him and crashed down on Sameth.

But he was too late, for the spell was released, and it struck the Master directly. With a howl, the Master realized that bands of gold and silver were surrounding and binding him, weakening his powers. The Master cursed, and, with the shard's help, melted away those bonds quickly, then faced his foes again. Prince Sameth, however, had taken full advantage of his momentary weakness and was now casting another spell.

"Hurry, get the Prince! We may not be able to hold off something else of that nature again. I am greatly weakened by that expeditious use of power, and I need to feed."

"Feed from my blood and hurry up!"

"No! There's no point; it'll be taking power from you."

"Oh."

"Just get the Prince!"

The black wolf leapt towards Sameth, snarling. Sameth released his spell, but it missed the Master completely, instead flying out towards the heavens. What poor aim. The Master snorted in contempt, and took down two more soldiers. Their blood would help replenish some of the power spent fighting Sameth's spell, the soldiers' earlier spells and the spells cast to destroy the soldiers. Then, he bounded for Sameth. The soldiers tried to follow, but they were all strangled by tendrils of dark magic, and died slowly, one by one.

It was left with Touchstone and Sameth. Sameth was now casting again – it would seem that the boy had no end to his spunk and daring. The Master would have to fix that. He howled, and was about to spring, when he realized that what remained of his strength was leaving him.

Sameth had released the Charter spell he had been casting, bound together by a master mark, which was now acting as a miniature Charter sun. This Charter sun was a smaller version of the sun itself, but it was effective in draining the Master's vitality. He noticed that there were no clouds to cover and reflect the light, then realized the spell that Sameth had cast earlier hadn't been merely a direct binding spell that had missed him. The shard had been correct – the Master's hubris was blinding him. His energy was sapping away quickly, and he needed to do something. The King roared and rushed at him, but he dodged it easily, and went instead for Sameth.

Sameth was very weary from having done so much casting, but still he tried to reach for his sword. As he touched his sword, the Master reached him and bit him on the neck, feeding on Sameth's rich blood.

"No! The King! Watch out, you fool!"

The Master spun about just in time to see an enraged King in berserker mode. He roared, and then shone brilliantly, and the Master thought he saw a bird-shaped creature floating above the King. It was clearly a Free Magic practitioner. He wondered if it was a servant of his, then sensed its power and realized it was far beyond him. Suddenly, he felt drowsy, and the compulsion to just fall down and sleep was strong. He tried futilely to resist, but he had no strength left. The ground was suddenly looking very inviting. Then –

"Don't sleep! Idiot! Run!"

The shard's power was all that was sustaining and resisting against that bird's power. The Master knew good advice when he saw it, and transformed immediately, speeding off towards the Southern Plateau. He finally understood why the shard had been dead-set against fighting all those soldiers and the Prince and King alone.

"You fool!"

_At first, the title was "Deceptive Cloak" but I've changed it. I wanted to make it like, "First Awakening" and "Second Awakening" to maintain the suspense, but decided against it – this chapter name sounds so much nicer! Haha! (: But I have a test to revise for. May not post for awhile!_

_Someone told me this chapter was a major disaster, so I've made corrections. Argh! Is it okay now? I rather liked the shard's last command, though – 'you fool!' Yay!_

_BTW: My tests are all over, but there's Oral Examination, one PowerPoint, two essays, homework, and other stuff to do! The end's not in sight!_


	7. Clayr Revalations

_Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix._

_This begins after _Abhorsen_, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis._

_Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera._

_Chong Jiat's becoming something like an editor helping me oO wow, thanks. Boon Siong commentates too, yay! Seventh Chapter up, sorry for taking so long! But Eighth Chapter will take even longer I'm afraid! See below for reasons!_

_I thought I might dedicate Chapters (I dedicated an earlier chapter to Ms Choh already) so this Chapter's for Chong Jiat, 'cause he says it's one of my better chapters! Enjoy!_

**Clayr Revelations**

Sabriel stirred, and frost fell off her prone body. Her vision cleared, as her last lucid memory was of diving into Life with Lirael. She looked about, and noted that there were barely any Clayr nearby, which was rather unusual. Her sword and Saraneth were still ready, and she sighed. Apparently her vacation was over.

She stowed the big bell and her sword, and cleared her mind. The diamond of protection was still running strongly, and she had no wish to break it and waste the energy. Utilizing a technique Sameth had taught her and Lirael to conserve energy when hunting the Dead, she called the individual marks back to her palm. A brief, relaxing sensation came over her, soothing her, and she felt somewhat renewed. Then she strode out of where the diamond used to be. Sabriel noted that on a bookshelf nearby there was a pulsating Charter spell, and touched it.

"Abhorsen. This is Chief Librarian Vancelle." A gruff, rough voice erupted from the shining marks, a voice invested with experience and authority. "Your presence is required at the Observatory. All the Awakened Clayr are already there, and your presence is required. Please proceed with haste. Although it is strictly not allowed, we have bent the ancient rules. This spell contains information which will allow you to make your way to the Observatory."

The spell shimmered, then dissolved, individual marks sputtering on the ground. At the same time, her vision blurred and her hearing seemed to fail. Sabriel felt semiconscious, as if something was purposely weakening her faculties, and her legs were walking of their own accord. She realized that the Clayr were doing her a great favor and placing much trust in her, and did not attempt to counter the spell.

After a while, she was aware that her legs had stopped, and that the air had grown frigid. A Clayr spoke then. "I am the Axe-Guard. I will proceed to blindfold you." As she did so, another Clayr came forward to check her Charter mark. Satisfied, both Clayr backed off and Sabriel's feet started walking again. She was walking down steps and into tunnels she had no knowledge of. Suddenly, she came to a halt, and her blindfold was removed. The spell also released its hold on her.

"Welcome, cousin." Two Clayr intoned, their circlet of silver and moonstones extruding a pale light. It was Sanar and Ryelle, and Sabriel grinned. However, they did not respond in kind, instead saying, "We have no time. Please observe." Sanar said, "Ready?" and the rest of the Clayr – at least a thousand – chanted, "Yes." Sanar had no need to shout – her voice reverberated in the icy dungeon.

"Wait! I need to go help Touchstone –"

"Watch." Sanar and Ryelle suddenly looked very pale, and their eyes were fixed on the ceiling. All the Clayr were now looking upwards, as well. Sabriel hesitated, then looked up. The ceiling was like a gigantic icy mirror which was showing her scenes.

A few scenes flashed past – a scene of a battle between Touchstone and his company and a dark Free Magic creature, a scene of Lirael flying towards the Royal Palace in a Paperwing, a scene of Ganel under invasion and soldiers fighting the Dead and Free Magic creatures, a scene of Lirael at Abhorsen's House. Another vision, of a shining bird-shaped creature flying above Touchstone, and of a woman above Sabriel, a woman above Lirael, a hooded man above Sameth, a gigantic polar bear above the Clayr, and a Dog. Then, a scene of those Seven in Death – with Sabriel, Lirael, Sam, and Touchstone – and they were all anxiously speaking together. But Sabriel could not discern the words.

After what seemed an eternity, the visions halted. The Clayr turned to Sabriel, and Ryelle – or was it Sanar? – spoke. "You will have to Awaken, as will all of us. We will all Awaken when necessary, and the final war will commence. All the Bloodlines will be involved, for there is no escape from this final battle. It is all or nothing."

Sanar then continued, "You will have to stay here and await the arrival of Lirael. You both will have to scour for critical information, and there is a trial. Only then will we have the knowledge to resummon the Bright Shiners to our aid."

"But what of Touchstone?"

"The King is safe. Ranna preserved him and Belgaer, and his attackers were not well prepared. However, what works against us is the same as before – the Destroyer of all Life, the Ninth Bright Shiner."

"What!?"

"It is impossible to prevent him from coming together again – the future seems fixed on this. It is the third, and final, confrontation between all, and only the power of the Bright Shiners, all the Bright Shiners, may stop him."

Sabriel was confused. "The Eight." She looked at the Clayr, then asked. "What do you mean by 'Ranna preserved him'?"

"His inner power, Ranna's power, Awakened within him. However, Ranna's power has become dormant once more. To fully Awaken, it requires the presence of Mosrael, the Waker."

"I don't get you." Sabriel was clearly bewildered by the sudden flow of information.

Suddenly, Sabriel realized that the Observatory was empty save of the three women. Just then, Sanar and Ryelle's eyes regained their usual clarity.

"We're afraid that that is all we See, for now, but –"

"- it is imperative that you stay in the Glacier –"

"- and await the arrival of our sister, Lirael –"

"- to obtain critical information on Awakenings."

"Lirael will arrive after a visit to Abhorsen's House. She has to visit, or all is lost." The two Clayr intoned together.

Both Clayr then turned, leaving a very baffled Sabriel to attempt to unwind the perplexing tangle of information. Then, a notion occurred to Sabriel.

"Wait! How do I get out of here?" However, the entire hall was now devoid of Clayr. Grumbling to herself, Sabriel walked and thought of how she might get out of the Observatory, when she realized she was in a corridor leading to the Library. She looked back, and there was no ice, no Observatory. Sabriel sighed and shooked her head, resigned to the fact that she would never fully understand the intricacies of the Clayr's Glacier.

* * *

Lirael looked sorrowfully down at the direction of Ganel as her Paperwing soared past. She could smell the whiff of Free Magic, for she wasn't very high up yet, but she resisted rushing down to help. The stench of Free Magic was strong, suggesting the presence of many Free Magic creatures, spells, or features, and she had no desire of confronting all of that after having completed a sprint across seven precincts of Death, fighting two necromancers, bound within a gate by Ranna and Saraneth, fighting Dead, and flying the Paperwing by night all without a good rest in between. 

Lirael noticed that it was dawn already, which meant that a few hours, at least, or perhaps even days, had been lost. Who knew how long she had been trapped in Death. Lirael shuddered to think of the experience – besides the crippling fear and dread, and the sensation of Greater Dead lurking nearby, she had felt as if months had been stripped away. She dreaded finding out at the Royal Palace – for that was where she was headed now – that King Touchstone was dead already, dead months ago. She would never be absolved from her guilt then.

Suddenly, a sensation made her skin crawl. Lirael fought a sudden urge to bank right. She lost control of her wind-spell for a split second, and the wind howled, causing a monstrous force to pick the Paperwing and fling it veering North-East. Horrified, Lirael attempted to control the turbulent Charter marks by summoning marks for calm and peace to counterbalance the wild wind-summoning marks. They were nearly under control and the wind lessening greatly in strength when the urge – almost like a hunger – came again, even more strongly.

"What the –" Lirael cursed, but the damage was done – the wind was wilder than before. Lirael had no notion of how to salvage the situation this time – the magic involved was now beyond her weary self, and she found it simple to sleep, and slip quietly into Death.

The First Precinct was calm, and felt like home. Lirael wanted nothing more than to let the current flow and carry her along, as she directed the current. A warm, fuzzy feeling rose in Lirael, one that seemed distantly familiar. She let the feeling carry on, and was content to lie down and rest, until she smelled the whiff of Free Magic. Immediately, Lirael gathered her senses and, shocked, Lirael drew Saraneth, looking about. Her messy hair hung from her head as a dark mass – indeed, she looked more dangerous than the Dead spirits floating into Death, and would likely have looked more dangerous than any resident of the Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, and even Sixth precincts. Her long, silky hair was wild, and her eyes were fiery. The once-resplendent clothes that she wore (for she had left the Palace in courtly gowns after a report of an attack on Callibe, with Sabriel) were now tattered, ragged, and worn – the result of friction under her armored clothes. She realized she must have looked quite a sight – not unlike a vagabond, rogue and the like.

However, there were no Free Magic creatures she could frighten – none that she could sense, and none that she could see, and none that she could hear, and none that she could smell, anyway. Lirael wondered for a moment where the stench had come from, then gasped, remembering her dire situation in Life. She frantically dashed into Life – and instinctively covered her eyes with her left hand. The sun was rising already, and her right hand still clutched Saraneth tightly.

The Paperwing had landed, relatively unharmed, at the Long Cliffs. Where she had originally started out, and the exact opposite of the direction she – and the wind – had been headed. How in the Charter had she come here? She suddenly realized that, without her guiding the wind, the Paperwing had managed to fly here by itself. It didn't even have a guide. And she had been certain they would have crashed in the Great Sickle Wood. What in the Charter was happening?

Eerily, she realized that this was nearby Abhorsen's house. As soon as that thought entered her mind, the sudden urge came again – frantic and demanding. Lirael protested to herself – she needed to save the King! Then, she realized that whatever threatened the King was probably over – it was noon, already, and the sun was high up. Besides, she could have spent a year in Death – as a mere snooze like that had taken a couple of hours!

"All right", sighed Lirael, more to affirm her decision and to test her voice than anything else to anyone in particular. However, she had to know what happened to Touchstone, her brother-in-law. Or step-brother-in-law. It was all very confusing to a bamboozled Lirael, who never did get the hang of all the relations, unless she was pressed, unlike her Clayr cousins. Or second cousins, or third cousins, or aunts or second aunts or third aunts… Lirael shook her head free of those sticky spiderweb-like thoughts, and, drawing Thyme, brought forth the marks for protection and scalding and fire for her armor – to be insulated against the Dead – then the marks for a large diamond of protection encompassing the Paperwing. Then, drawing the Dark Mirror from her Paperwing – she always kept it in a bag pack close to her – she strode into Death.

_Why does Lirael need to go into Abhorsen's house? What awaits her? And what did it mean when Orannis claimed that "Astarael" had "partially awakened" already?_

_How was Lirael saved, when the wind-spells were out of control? This question I'll not be answering explicitly. However, inferences _can_ be made!_

_Finally, I'm happy to announce that I'll be starring Mogget/Yrael/Cat-thing/Puss in the next chapter! Look forward to it… after I finish my homework & project work! (:_

_Note to self- write a Fic for Gundam Seed, weave in more Themes in this Fic (we just had an eye-popping lesson about Justice & Mercy with Ms Clarinda Choh, and all the irony in light of Portia's "very famous" speech – search 'Clarinda Choh' and 'british council' on net and read her essay! She's still teaching the same school – I'm in that school!), getting a Sniper in Ragnarok Online, writing more Fics (possibly Animorphs and Ray Bradbury and definitely Cardcaptor Sakura), etc!_

_In exuberance, yongzhi93_


	8. Mogget's Debut

_Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix._

_This begins after _Abhorsen_, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis._

_Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera._

_Oh, I've a really, really, bad memory btw. That's why I took so long with this – I forgot what I wanted to write! But if I remember, I'll try to make an eighth bell called "Yrael"… to counter something x) and try to make a Yrael speech on Life like Portia's famous speech on Mercy._

_Don't know Portia or her speech? Well, check up Portia and Shakespeare on Google! I have to memorise large chunks though – my literature grades are seriously degenerating. Ms Choh refuses to give me my first A in this entire year, when last year I had plenty. _

_BTW: I'm a fan of Christine Feehan, Star Wars, Garth Nix, Horowitz and all too! In my blog[sanguinestance dot blogspot dot com Though I've left off for quite awhile due to this, please tag! I promise to reply within a month!_

**Mogget's Debut**

The sun was at its zenith, high in the sky. Townsfolk were out in the open fearlessly – the reign of the Dead was long over, when King Touchstone and Queen Sabriel Abhorsen set out to quell the Dead. Unnoticed by all who crossed its path, a small, white cat was traveling. The interesting thing, however, was that it was also spiritedly muttering to itself.

"Such a quick dismissal after I spared much of my power opposing Orannis! I'd expect to stay at Abhorsen's House for a while longer, but no, they don't have fish! Do I have to do everything myself?" The cat grumbled angrily, "and then they fly off to the Royal Palace, but there's no space for me on the Paperwings, of course! Excuses – they're just leaving me to myself!"

"And now they assign me tasks as if I were still their servant. Those Abhorsens – Sabriel freed me with Belgaer already!" The cat looked dubiously down at his collar, where a miniature bell rang.

"Or… did she? Ah, memory fades…"

Suddenly, the cat realized that he was quite lost. "Now where am I? Where was I headed?" The cat pondered on this for a while, and would have gone on pondering had not for a fish jumping in the stream. All thoughts were lost to it then, as feral instincts took over.

* * *

The Paperwing landed softly on the little islet on which Abhorsen's House was built. Lirael couldn't understand it, but it felt as if there were a yearning deep within her. She walked the familiar path, and was about to walk up to the front door when an urge, which she couldn't quite place, brought her to the well they last climbed down. 

Lirael still shuddered to think of their past experiences. She'd thought even Mogget dead from the apparition which took the Charter and replaced it with Death. Although it had saved them some time as a gesture of goodwill, she still couldn't bring herself to try and understand or sympathise with it, or even think of it at all.

Or rather, of her. For the Dog had later explained that the apparition was a leftover of an investment of Astarael's original power. Lirael shuddered to think that Astarael's blood ran strongest in her.

Lirael suddenly realized that her bandolier was draped more tightly across her, and her sword glowed a diffuse shade of yellow. Thyme, her new sword, ran with Charter marks that were somehow unfamiliar to her knowledge yet familiar with her self. And when she opened her eyes – she hadn't realized they were closed till she'd thought about it – she saw that she was climbing down the old well.

A horrified gasp was stifled, but her body moved as if of its own accord. She tried to stop and reverse direction, and her will pushed for supremacy, when, suddenly, her feet touched the bottom of the well.

Cold fear clawed at her heart. Her feet started shuffling towards the direction where Astarael was residing, and she couldn't get them to budge one inch in the opposite direction. She was a puppet in a show which got more sinister by the hour.

* * *

Mogget pounced, missed, and growled, as the bird chirped and fluttered away. It was the fifth time he had missed the songbird, which now landed on another branch. It wasn't that the fish weren't filling – they certainly were – but now he wanted dessert. 

He leapt to the branch where the songbird was, to see, in midair, the songbird flying away to another tree. Mogget had no such skill whatsoever, however – the branch broke and he fell, snarling, into the toughened ground. He yelped as he hit the ground ungracefully, then turned to stare balefully at the songbird. The songbird did not seem in the least bit remorseful, however.

Mogget now let a grin creep up, wiping away the last vestiges of his grimace. The cat looked very strange with a grin splashed on its furry, whiskered face. "I can play rough, too." The cat opened its mouth, and a stream of white fire came out, blasting the songbird. The poor bird did not have so much time as to start flapping its wings – it immediately roasted and fell to the ground, sizzling.

"Instant barbecue." Mogget seemed quite pleased with himself, and was about to go and claim his prize, when two voices rang out.

"Eric, it was here somewhere!"

"Yes, yes, Carman, I saw it too! White fire, wasn't it? A Free Magic elemental!" The second voice was nervous. "Got your rifle ready?"

"Eric, don't be stupid, what's bullets going to do to Free Magic things? Get those Charter-spelled arrows out, you dumb brute. I'm going to ready a spell."

By then, Mogget had already – very reluctantly – turned his back on the songbird. "Fancy not knowing that bullets can't harm me. And I'd like to see the spell that could do more than tickle me. Miserable fools. I never get dessert!" He complained with a low grumble in his throat, then hid himself.

The two hunters soon came into his view. They were middle-aged and looked very nervous. One clutched his gun in a tight grip, white knuckles trembling, as he made his way forward. The other held a handmade bow, made of yew, and notched a silver arrow. Charter marks glowed faintly on the arrow, and Mogget could make out at least two for strength, one for accuracy, and one for effectiveness against the undead.

The gun looked very old and rusted, and as Mogget watched, the handle suddenly broke off. The pale man uttered an oath, and seized the broken portion unhappily. "That's good money wasted. Drat this place!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Eric." Carman looked rather annoyed. "Did you bring a handmade bow, like I asked you to?"

"No!"

"Well, remember it next time, because the Old Kingdom won't accept any of your technology. Your old uncle isn't senile, you know, and you should listen to him. Take this."

Carman handed Eric a short dagger, and Eric stared at it as if he didn't know what it was. Which, Mogget mused, was probably the case.

Carman looked vaguely uncomfortable, though, and prowled about Mogget's hiding place. Mogget was hiding in the hole of a tree. Carman could most likely sense Mogget somewhere nearby, but no more precise than that.

Then, both Mogget and Carman reacted to another sensation. Death. There were Dead nearby.

A white, unnatural fog now covered the trees, and hid everything from sight, including the sun. As if that weren't enough, clouds moved in to block off the sun. It had to be a Free Magic sorcerer. And he was approaching.

"Uncle Carman! What's this? Where're you?"

Most mortals likely didn't have the supreme eyesight Mogget now utilized to see through the dense fog. Dead Hands were shambling up to the two unwitting hunters, and there were at least three Shadow Hands. The necromancer must be nearby.

Eric flailed wildly for his uncle, and, upon hearing footsteps, ran towards it sobbingly. Mogget realized with a start that Eric was running towards a Dead Hand. Normally, he would have ignored such proceedings unless they threatened him, and Mogget seriously doubted if _any_ necromancer, save the Abhorsens, could actually threaten him. However, after his commitment to the destruction of Orannis, every one less Dead Hand meant one less enemy, for he had sided openly with the Seven.

There was not much time left for Mogget to ponder, however. Eric had crashed headlong into the Dead Hand and, noticing what it was by stench and feel, started to edge away. However, the shambling Hands displayed an alacrity which Mogget rarely saw from Hands. He had to make a decision quickly. If he revealed himself now, the necromancer might flee.

However, he acted on impulse as Eric ran towards him – he leapt out, and appeared to grow, until he was the size of a desert tiger. Roaring, he decided to take out the Hands by fire. However, no spells came to his mind – it was blank, and he could barely think. His memory, ancient as it was, yielded no results. He blinked. How was this possible? It was a cruel jest – one of the Nine could not even _remember_ how to use his powers?

Mogget snarled as a Hand touched his nose. Instinctively, he drew a breath, and spat out a globule of pure, white flame which incinerated the Hand instantly. He turned to check on the other two humans. Eric was safe, and running in the right direction, towards Carman. Carman, lost as he was, wasn't in immediate danger.

Mogget bounded to Carman in two leaps, and growled, "Leave! Now!"

"Who – who are you?"

"I'm on your side. There's a necromancer nearby. Hurry up, leave!"

"Where to? I can't see anything in this dratted fog – Eric? Eric, is that you?"

"Uncle!" Eric sobbed.

"Eric! We've to leave, by order of…" Carman looked wildly about, until Mogget patted his shoe with a claw. "Of, umm, this cat-thing here… hey, were you that small?"

"That is not important." Mogget himself was rather furious, confused, and upset all at once – a jumble of feelings which were very unhealthy for a cat. "Just leave."

"How?"

"Head this way. It leads to Uppside. Hurry, they are nearly upon us." Mogget prodded Carman, and pointed with a white, furred paw.

"We can't! Uppside is under invasion by a necromancer!"

Mogget cursed. The Dead Hands were very close by – and he would not feel at ease until they were ten leagues from him. "Well, then prepare for battle."

The hunter nodded, as his useless nephew clutched his leg. Mogget, for his part, tried to recall some notion of how to use his power. He knew it was there… or was it?

Mogget was instantly furious with everything – why had he forgotten so many things? His fury blossomed from sparks into flames into a forest fire, in his mind. He was quite stunned, however, to see a real forest fire, surrounding their little party but not quite coming in. The golden-yellow flames did not eat at the trees as they should, but, defying all logic, they merely ran past the trees to attack the Dead.

"Who dares?" A deep, rasping growl came from the mass of Dead Hands. It had to be the necromancer.

"Necromancer, I'd suggest you watch yourself, lest you go up in flames!" Mogget taunted the necromancer, but he knew his words were empty, for he had no notion of how the fire came to be, much less of how to control the fire.

The necromancer was evidently more confident in Mogget's words, for the fog and clouds dispersed, and Mogget saw a slightly turquoise shield glowing, beating back the golden flames. Carman looked stunned, then looked questioningly at the white cat who had just burnt away the Dead.

The white cat stared back. "Don't just gawk! Feel free to contribute your own efforts to the cause! We're not out of the woods yet, so to speak."

Carman nodded, then passed his bow and arrows to Eric. He looked straight at the column of gold, and spat, "Anet! Calew! Ferhan!"

Three silver marks flew true, and shot straight at the column. Mogget could not discern if they had any effect, nor did he spare any of his mind to working that out. He was more preoccupied with finding a way to heed his own advice, and help out.

Carman looked at the column, then, as there were no obvious signs that the necromancer was felled, he gathered a veritable sea of marks in his mind. Marks for fire and burning, for blasting and breaking, for wrecking and wreaking havoc, for destruction and obliteration, and linked them all in a shining chain.

Mogget observed this, and realized that the man was no ordinary Charter Mage, or else he had to be extraordinarily dumb. Such a spell could weaken even the Abhorsen-in-Training, and would most likely burn up all but the most proficient Mages. He decided to help Carman, and spat a line of silver fire at the glowing orb forming above Carman's hand. The silver fire wrapped the spell and made it even bigger, shining with a luminescence which few could rival. Then, Carman threw it in the general direction of the fire, which was dying out.

If the fire had seemed angry before, it was fury personified now. The spell seemed to fuel a rage that now grew titanic: it was terrifying to behold. The object of its craving – the necromancer – stood no chance whatsoever, or so it seemed to Mogget. With a fiery passion and lust, it reared and consumed the necromancer. The air nearby shimmered, as three Hish, three Jerreq and a Stilken materialized, and were consumed. The Shadow Hands which survived the earlier fire were then attacked by the murderous forest inferno, and like how light eats at shadows, so the inferno ate at the Shadow Hands. Soon, the army of Dead Hands were no more.

Carman was most impressed. "Wow."

_Sorry it took me so long! It was tests all the way. Holidays are here now, though._

_But still, I have to return to school! I hope to finish Chapter 9 within this week, though, so stay tuned!_

___ My mom killed me for my MSG of 2.43. My Literature and Humanities were 1 from B3, and my Chinese 1 from A2. Argh!)_

_I did enjoy Teachers' Day, though. Happy Teachers Day to all you great teachers! This one dedicated to... hmm… let's see, Mrs Adeline Chng! x) You were the greatest teacher I had in Primary School – no offense to Mrs Susan Tan/Ang, Mrs Pauline Tay, Mr Daud Teo, Mr Kew Wong Yip, Ms Cecelia Theng, Mr Allan Wong – you guys were great too!_


End file.
